


Significant

by martizzle



Series: Schmando Ficlets [2]
Category: Hot Guy P.I. (Webcomic)
Genre: Asexual Character, Clown-to-Clown Communication, Established Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Indulgent, neurodivergent character, they're himbos leave them be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martizzle/pseuds/martizzle
Summary: "They’re just sitting together in Schmidt’s apartment. Getting ready for movie night. They’ve done it plenty of times before, Schmidt reminds himself. Just sitting. He can do that.Though, this is the first time they’ve done it as boyfriends."Schmidt panics. Nando helps him. They hold hands. The end.
Relationships: Schmidt/Nando Sy
Series: Schmando Ficlets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031448
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Significant

**Author's Note:**

> Schmidt: exists
> 
> Neurodivergent asexuals: one of us! One of us! ONE OF US! ONE OF –

Schmidt knows he’s fidgeting.

He can’t help it, can’t do anything to stop his fingers from moving, can’t make his thumbs stop picking at his cuticles that he _should_ have pushed back yesterday but was too distracted to do, too caught up in thinking about _Nando_ , about their _relationship_ , can’t do anything right –

Nando shifts on the other end of the couch, dragging Schmidt from his downward spiral for a brief moment.

They’re just sitting together in Schmidt’s apartment. Getting ready for movie night. They’ve done it plenty of times before, Schmidt reminds himself. Just sitting. He can do that. 

Though, this is the first time they’ve done it as boyfriends.

Distantly, Schmidt knows that he should probably say something or at least move closer to Nando, but he’s seemingly paralysed. A weight in the depths of his stomach is keeping him rooted in place.

Why is he _more_ tense now that they’re officially “together”?

He presses his left thumb into his right palm, rubbing the leather-clad flesh there for a moment before repeating the motion with his other thumb. _Gotta keep it even. Have to reciprocate._

The tension is palpable; why doesn’t Nando leave? Why is he staying here when it’s so uncomfortable? God, he’s gonna break up with Schmidt, or at least he would, but he’s too nice to say anything, too nice to ask for more even though he obviously wants _something_ , a something Schmidt doesn’t even want to think about, he’s being so selfish, only caring about what _he_ wants instead of thinking about _Nando’s_ needs and desires, he’s going to ruin their relationship _and_ their friendship, this was a huge mistake, he should tell Nando to leave, never see him again.

“You okay?”

Schmidt whips his head up and around, eyes wide. He must not have been breathing because his lungs cry out when he takes a deep breath. Nando’s still there on the couch, looking at him through the corner of his eye.

“It looks like you’re panicking,” Nando continues. 

That obvious, eh?

“Can I get you a glass of water?”

His voice is calm, level, almost casual. Schmidt nods jerkily, and when Nando gets up to head for the kitchen, Schmidt curses himself for relaxing at his leaving.

Schmidt doesn’t look up when Nando returns with a glass in hand. He’s embarrassed, ashamed, and more than a little frustrated at himself for freaking out from just sitting. With a grimace, he wonders how he’ll react to _other_ activities with Nando.

His wrist shakes as he takes a drink. No ice cubes, nearly room temperature from the tap, just the way he likes it. God, he doesn’t deserve Nando.

Speaking of, Nando hasn’t returned to the couch. But before Schmidt could further wallow in his own self-pity, a blanket is dumped onto his head, and Nando resumes his place next to – though a good ways away from – Schmidt. 

“Nadia’s been going through a bit of a rough patch recently,” Nando offers.

Schmidt risks a look. Nando’s lounging, still not looking directly at him, for which Schmidt is indescribably grateful. He loathes being the center of attention, even when it’s just the two of them.

“Her doctor thinks it might be OCD. We’re keeping an eye on it, and I’ve been reading up on how to recognize and respond to her panicking.”

Nando looks back at him with a soft smile that Schmidt can’t help returning.

“It’s what dads do,” Nando murmurs.

At that, though, Nando frowns and groans, burying his head in his hands. Before Schmidt can react, Nando starts babbling.

“Oh _Jesus Christ_ , I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I just compared you to not only a fuckin’ _teenager_ but my _child_ , too, and I obviously don’t think of you that way; I just wanted to say that Daniella and I have been researching this –”

Nando cuts himself off with another frustrated grumble.

“And of course I go and mention my _ex-wife_ to my _boyfriend_ when I’m trying to tell him how much I care about him!”

Schmidt’s stunned silence is quickly broken by laughter. It starts deep in his chest and bubbles up, and when Nando peeks through his fingers, he joins Schmidt. And with that, the tension magically dissipates.

“Look at us,” Nando says. “‘Coupla grown-ass adults who can’t figure out how to communicate properly.”

“In my defense, I’m _significantly_ younger than you,” Schmidt mutters between chuckles.

Nando shoots him a playful scowl, which is slightly undercut by his messy hair. Schmidt doesn’t think twice about reaching out to fix it and revels in Nando’s leaning into his touch. 

“Still up for that movie, hot stuff?” Nando asks.

Schmidt nods and settles into his seat while Nando brings up Netflix. He’s still on the opposite end of the couch, but his posture is open. An invitation to get closer, but no expectation one way or another.

Schmidt slowly but surely inches his hand over to Nando – his _boyfriend_ – and smiles when Nando lays his own hand palm-up on the seat. Schmidt runs a finger all along Nando’s hand, tracing the lines of his palm, mapping out the years-old calluses, feeling the ridges of his fingerprints. 

They sit there, holding hands in their own special way, well into the evening.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> "Marty title a fic with more than one random word" challenge


End file.
